


you knew just what i was there for

by insatiablegaydesire



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Butch/Femme, F/F, Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, Nurse Sansa, a little pre-smut scene, blue moon by jo stafford is a recurring song in the fic, but nothing too graphic, butch daenerys targaryen, femme sansa stark, i highly recommend listening to it while reading, plus an elderly ofc, some mentions of other characters - Freeform, this fic is basically sansa coming to terms with her sexuality with the help of dany, title is also from the song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 20:55:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16333316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insatiablegaydesire/pseuds/insatiablegaydesire
Summary: Sansa's life is simple. She works days as a nurse at a hospital, then goes home to her little yellow flat, enjoying what she has and ignoring what she truly desires. But when Daenerys, with her cigarettes, leather jacket, and boyish looks, shows up outside her door, she has a hard time trying to resist what she has wanted all her life.“My name’s Daenerys. Daenerys Targaryen.”Sansa blushed as she took Daenerys’ hand in her own. “Thank you for helping me with the door. I’m Sansa Stark.”Daenerys’ eyes crinkled at the edges, giving Sansa the immediate desire to smooth them away with the tips of her fingers. “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”





	you knew just what i was there for

Sansa hated the color white. It mocked her from every wall, every curtain, and every bedsheet in the hospital she worked at, taunting her with its purity. As she went through her rounds, avoiding the inevitable gropes from the hands of sickly men, she prayed for the release to her small flat covered in yellow. She lived there alone, and though her mother feared for her safety, she couldn’t dream of anything better. The absence of her sister’s constant shouting was good reason enough. And though cramped, at least within those walls she wasn’t constantly reminded of her secret. At least there she could pretend she was normal.

As she pondered once again about how she wished the hospital would invest in a new color, perhaps a pale sky blue or a delicate mint green, one of their regulars interrupted her thoughts. 

“Oh, sugar, could I trouble you for a little more of that apple pie from downstairs?” 

Sansa would know that gravelly voice anywhere; it crawled its way over her skin and hiked up her skirt. She turned to the man with a plastered on smile, folding her arms tightly over her chest. Although she wanted to ask why he couldn’t go and get that dry ass pie himself, he had working legs didn’t he, she couldn’t risk losing her job over one gross patient. 

“Absolutely, Mr. Baelish. I’ll go see if they have any more.” Petyr smiled with those jagged teeth of his, and Sansa turned away as quickly as she could. She felt his eyes on her ass as she made her way to the cafeteria, and focused on the poster ahead to distract herself. It was white, yet again, with thick black block letters in the center. An accompanying picture on the side depicted a concerned woman on the phone with her hand cupped around the receiver, as if she wanted to prevent someone else nearby from hearing the conversation taking place. Above the phone number, it said:

Afraid your loved one is suffering from the ills of homosexuality? Call us today.

Maybe it was better to focus on Petyr Baelish after all.

***

After the clock struck six, signaling the end of her shift, Sansa hurriedly clocked out, picked up her bag, and headed out the door. A strong gust of wind flew into the hospital waiting room when she did, almost blowing her white cap right off her head, even with the smattering of tiny pins securing it in place. Her arm reached up to protect it, letting the door slam shut behind. Holding it positioned on her head with her left hand, her right gripping the handles of her overstuffed tote bag, Sansa trotted down the pavement to her flat.

It was a short enough walk, but by the time Sansa reached her door, her feet were aching in her coffee colored kitten heels. She rifled through her bag for her key, pushing past old papers and lipstick tubes that had seen much better days. Right as her fingers brushed past the familiar ridges of cold metal, a cough sounded behind her. Sansa’s fingers halted their movement. 

“You okay there?” a soft voice sounded. Sansa released a breath she was holding, smiling as she turned. Suddenly, she was facing the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. She was shorter than Sansa, with a lithe frame leaned against the brick outer wall of the building. Her white blonde hair was cropped close to her head, almost like a man’s. But whereas men styled theirs with heavy grease, hers was lifted easily by the wind, reshaping and reconfiguring her look in a way in which no ordinary woman would allow. Similarly, her clothes were the furthest thing from popular women’s fashion. The trousers she wore were clearly made for narrow hips, and her shirt would fall past her thighs if it wasn’t tucked in. The only thing that highlighted her femininity was the leather jacket that hugged her body like a second skin. If Sansa wasn’t so struck by a strong sense of desire, she would’ve been shocked by such an outrageous outfit on a woman.

“If you’re having trouble with the lock, I may be able to lend a hand.” Her eyes smiled at Sansa as she took a long drag from the lit cigarette that sat between her pale fingers. 

Pushing aside a voice in her mind that sounded a lot like her mother’s shouting at her to politely decline, fish her key out of her bag, and run away, she nodded. “If you could.” She smiled coyly as the woman dropped the cigarette on the pavement, stamping it to ash underneath her booted feet. 

The woman dropped to her knees beside Sansa, and eyed the lock with determination. She nodded to herself, then looked up at Sansa. “You got a hairpin?”

Sansa immediately went for the pin holding back the hair closest to the front of her face, releasing a handful of red strands from its tight hold. She wordlessly handed it over.

When their hands touched, a warmth rushed its way through Sansa’s body. She swallowed, and quickly diverted her eyes to the yellow paint of her neighbor’s door.

The woman’s slender fingers worked methodically, pushing the needle of the pin in and out of the lock until the door fell open with a soft click.

The woman stood from her kneeling position, holding out the pin for Sansa to take once again. “If that is all...” she said lowly.

“Actually,” Sansa said, against everything she’d been taught. “Would you like to come in? I always make enough tea for two.”

The woman smiled, her teeth biting at her bottom lip, and pocketed the hairpin to revisit at another time. She held out her empty hand once again, and said, “My name’s Daenerys. Daenerys Targaryen.”

Sansa blushed as she took Daenerys’ hand in her own. “Thank you for helping me with the door. I’m Sansa Stark.”

Daenerys’ eyes crinkled at the edges, giving Sansa the immediate desire to smooth them away with the tips of her fingers. “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

Overcome by surprise, Sansa could not stop herself from replying with, “I could say the same.” She looked away immediately, embarrassed, and focused instead on pushing open the door and leading her guest inside. Daenerys shed her jacket when she came in, draping it across one of Sansa’s kitchen chairs.

She avoided Daenerys’ eyes as she filled her kettle from the faucet and set it on the stovetop. Turning back around to face the woman, Sansa said, “So, are you new in town? I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

Now it was Daenerys’ turn to avoid eye contact. “I actually used to live here when I was younger. Some things happened that brought me away, but now that they’re over... I’m back.”

Unable to stop herself, Sansa asked, “What kind of things?” She mentally cursed herself, and backtracked, adding, “I mean, that is a very personal question, I don’t mean to-”

“Husband things.” Daenerys didn’t say anything beyond that, but also didn’t appear offended by Sansa’s asking.

Observing the other woman’s drawn in stance, and haunted eyes, Sansa realized that she knew this woman more intimately than she could of any other stranger. But, even if Sansa had already failed once to wield her own decent manners, she knew that if she delved anywhere further with this subject, it would be unforgivable. So, she turned to the one thing she could always count on: her record player.

Thumbing through the vinyl covers, she pushed past albums of Lita Roza and Edith Piaf until her hands rested on her favorite, Jo Stafford. She carefully pulled out the record and put it into place, moving the needle inwards. When the beginning notes of Blue Moon began to play, she turned to Daenerys.

“I thought we might enjoy a little background music.”

Daenerys’ lips tugged upwards, and she blinked away the emotions of the previous topic. “Are you a dancer, Ms. Sansa Stark?”

“I have been known to enjoy a spin or two,” Sansa joked. She smiled wide, until Daenerys offered her hand.

Daenerys laughed, sensing Sansa’s surprise. “I understand, I’m not exactly the ideal partner, but maybe I could learn a thing or two from you.”

Sansa shook her head, glancing at the window. The drapes were open, letting in the fading afternoon light. Soon, anything that occurred in her kitchen would be clearly visible to any passerbys outside. “No, it’s- I mean-”

“You’ve never danced with a woman before,” Daenerys finished, a knowing look washing over her face.

Sansa nodded, and eyed the cream tiled beneath her feet. “Yes.”

Daenerys took a step forward, and placed a hand on Sansa’s arm. “Would it make you more comfortable if we closed the curtains?” she whispered.

Sansa looked into Daenerys’ eyes, and her heartbeat quickened. “If you could.”

Daenerys followed Sansa’s request, drawing the yellow curtains shut and tying the two pieces together for good measure. As she made her back to Sansa, both felt a sense of newfound comfort wash over them.

Daenerys placed one hand at the curve of Sansa’s waist, drawing her closer in. “Now there’s nothing to fear.”

Sansa let out a shaky breath. She circled an arm around Daenerys’ shoulder, and took her partner’s empty hand in her own. While the scene would’ve looked awkward to any given outsider, as the shorter of the two women was taking the position usually given to the taller man, to them, it was the most comfortable they’d felt in a long while.

In the middle of a yellow and cream kitchen, Sansa and Daenerys swayed to the velvety voice of Jo Stafford, oblivious to the outside world. As they danced, Sansa’s head began to ache, the pins in her hair pushing against her scalp. She reached a hand up to remove them, but Daenerys stopped her.

“Here, let me,” Daenerys said softly. She reached up to Sansa’s head, carefully removing the pins that kept the nurse’s cap correctly positioned, all while gazing intently at Sansa while doing so. Sansa’s red locks fell around her shoulders, tickling the side of Daenerys’ face because of how close they were standing. After letting the cloth cap fall haphazardly to the floor, Daenerys did not withdraw her hand from Sansa’s hair. Instead, she let it fall to the nape of Sansa’s neck, stroking at the soft skin there.

Sansa felt herself lean forward as a result of the touch, prompting Daenerys to mimic her action. Before their lips could touch, however, Blue Moon came to an end, and Sansa jumped back from Daenerys. 

The mood in the room changed drastically. Sansa was now trembling, mumbling apologies, but to whom, Daenerys was unsure of. She stepped forward to try and console Sansa, but Sansa simply edged further away.

“I’m sorry if I saw things that weren’t truly there,” Daenerys said, backing away further for Sansa’s sake.

“No,” Sansa said faintly. “You... you saw correctly.”

“Then why did you stop?” Daenerys asked softly. Everything in her wanted to rush forward and comfort Sansa with her touch, where nonverbal communication spoke volumes over verbal, but she knew that would only make it worse.

“Because it’s wrong!” Sansa’s voice cracked, and she felt tears begin to form in her vision.

Daenerys’ eyes shifted downwards, and she couldn’t help the frown that overtook her face. She had been in Sansa’s position once before. It had taken a lot out of her to get past it, and even now, she still struggled. Seeing Sansa like this brought her back to that scared little girl trapped in a loveless marriage with a man her family forced upon her, and it hurt her to see that same feeling in someone so undeserving of it.

“Listen,” Daenerys started, not unkindly. “When you first saw me, did you think I was wrong too? That I was sick? That I wasn’t what a woman was supposed to be?” 

Daenerys already knew the answer, so she didn’t wait for Sansa to respond. “But still, you invited me in. Because something inside you said that maybe what everybody tells you, what everything tells you in this world, is what’s really wrong. Who says a woman can’t wear men's clothes and cut her hair close to the head? Who says two women can’t kiss in the privacy of one of their own homes?”

“But...” Sansa said, grasping for another argument to bar her from her true desires. Now her tears were unable to keep from falling, mixing with her mascara, leaving dark grey streaks on her cheeks in their path.

“Are you attracted to me, Sansa?” Daenerys asked outright.

“Yes,” Sansa said, so quiet that the affirmation almost didn’t register in Daenerys’ mind.

“Then screw anyone, or anything, that tells you that that’s wrong...” Daenerys took slow steps toward Sansa between the words, stopping only when her feet could not bring her any further. Her eyes never left Sansa’s lips when she ended with, “And kiss me.”

Sansa shook her head, but her eyes betrayed her, trailing over every inch of Daenerys’ frame and revealing her true answer. When she leant just the bit forward to connect their lips, neither were surprised. The kiss started out soft, but the intensity increased as Sansa let herself fall fully into it. She had kissed men before, on dates set up by friends and family, even once by her own mother after Sansa came back home again and again consistently unimpressed. It was nothing like this. Kissing Daenerys didn’t feel like an unavoidable task, or something to get her siblings off her back. It felt right in a way she’d never experienced before.

But it couldn’t be right. Abruptly, Sansa broke off the kiss and retrieved Daenerys’ leather jacket from its place on the kitchen chair. She held it out to its owner stiffly from an arm’s length away. “I think you should go.”

Daenerys glanced at the jacket with surprise. “I thought-”

“You thought wrong.” Sansa avoided Daenerys’ gaze, thinking back to the poster she’d seen earlier that day.

Daenerys sighed, and took the jacket back a little harsher than she meant to. Pausing before the doorway, she said lowly, “When you finish figuring everything out, come visit me two doors over. I’d be glad to let you in.”

And with that, she was gone. And Sansa was alone again, standing by herself in the kitchen, a forgotten kettle screaming shrilly in the background.

***

After that, Sansa avoided lingering around her building in fear of seeing Daenerys again. She went about her routine as normal, trying to push the enchanting woman out of her mind. It wasn’t right how her thoughts constantly obsessed over the heady scent that lay in her hair, or the curve of her upper lip. And so even though giving her attention to the more difficult of her patients was an unlikeable choice, she would easily take it over letting herself fall completely mad for a woman in a leather jacket.

The hospital quickly became a distraction for her. She spent longer hours there, picking up others’ shifts whenever they asked. Tonight, she had taken a few hours of the overnight shift from a nurse called Brienne. The job slowed down when the stars came out, but it also brought on patients of the more unsavory type. Under the moonlight, bar fights and gang violence were the top two cases that walked through those doors. 

Such was the case on this night. They had already had two instances of head wounds due to glass bottles being broken over them, and one minor stabbing, if a stabbing could even be classified as such a thing.

Sansa was already exhausted, fixing a loose pin in her hair after stitching up the bleeding side of yet another drunk man’s head. She was counting the minutes until she could make her way on home, and by her mark, she only had fifty five of them to go. That was when the doors opened, a nurse guiding a new patient to the bed next to Sansa’s stool. She sighed, putting on her best service smile and turning to face her next project, but the smile immediately disappeared when she saw who it was.

Daenerys sat before her, missing her iconic jacket, though still sporting slacks and a men’s deep brown trilby on her head. Her face was starting to swell, and Sansa could see the beginning of a bruise coloring a large section of her nose and right eye. But that wasn’t the worst of it; when she looked further down, she finally noticed the wrist bent badly out of its natural shape, Daenerys’ hand holding it gently still, her face grimacing sharply whenever it shifted. 

Without thinking, Sansa replaced Daenerys’ hand with her own, smoothing over the skin and assessing the damage. She couldn’t hide her own concern. It went past what she usually felt for her patients, and she knew Daenerys picked up on it.

“So what’s the verdict, doctor?” Daenerys said, trying not to let the pain lace through her joking words.

Sansa blushed at the flattering misnomer. “Well, it’s definitely broken. You’re going to need a splint put on, and then come back in a week for a cast to be fit.”

“Will you be the one to give it to me?” Daenerys’ eyes sparkled with the hint of a laugh, a tone of innuendo in her voice.

Sansa snapped her head up, her lips pressed together. “I think you need to remember exactly how the conversation ended last time we talked.”

Daenerys smirked, leaning in conspiratorially. “Oh, I remember just fine.”

Sansa breathed in sharply. She felt heat rise to her face when she whispered brokenly, “You can’t keep doing this to me.”

Suddenly Daenerys’ whole demeanor changed. Her face fell, and she reached out with her good hand to lay it on top of Sansa’s. Sansa let it stay there, if only for the genuine regret that lay in Daenerys’ eyes. “Hey, hey, I’m sorry, I’m such an ass. I would blame the drinks, but I’m not that far gone. I shouldn’t have joked about that. Especially in public.”

Sansa wanted to say something, but she couldn’t, so she turned her attention back to Daenerys’ broken wrist. “How did this even happen, anyway?”

Daenerys shrugged, which shifted her wrist a bit, causing her to wince in pain. “Oh, you know. A man doesn’t like a woman in men’s clothing, he makes an ass of himself. So I take him out of the bar, get in a few punches, but turns out the asshole has friends and, well, I could only fight back for so long before one got ahold of me and held my arms back. Guess he didn’t care to use a lighter grip when doing so.”

Sansa felt a small ball of fury grow inside of her. “Have you gone to the police?”

Daenerys cocked her head to the side, looking Sansa up and down to see if she was serious. “No, I haven’t.”

“Well, you should, I’ll take you down to the station myself after my shift-“

Daenerys began to laugh, an empty, broken sound. The corners of her eyes pricked with tears, and she fought past them as she said, “You really think a cop is going to take one look at me and tell the men they were in the wrong? Darling, I wish life could be so sweet and easy, but the fact of the matter is it never will be.”

Sansa’s heart sank as she realized Daenerys was right, and ignored with all she could how the slip of the pet name made her whole body feel unnaturally warm. She focused on attaching the splint to Daenerys’ wrist, and while doing so, she realized something important.

In the middle of the night, in a hospital coated in white, Sansa had an epiphany.

She recalled everything she’d ever been told her whole life, from her friends, from her family, about what she should be. 

“Stand tall, sit pretty,” her mother used to say. “It’s the surest way of attracting your future husband’s attention.” 

She was always her mother’s favorite when it came to doing what she was told. She wasn’t the type to act up in class, like Arya, or be overly proud, like Robb. She knew her place, and did whatever she could to fit into it. No skirts above the knee, no hair loose in public, and definitely no staring at the women in town like they were the most beautiful things she’d ever seen. Those were the rules, and she followed them to a T. 

Life had always been about rules with Sansa. She didn’t object; speaking one’s mind beyond what was necessary was unladylike. But she’d always expected it to all work out someday. She’d dreamed of the future where following the rules meant she could finally live happily and freely, and no longer feel like her very heart was trapped in a bird’s cage, bursting with every beat to be let out but always denied the reward. 

But now, the truth that she had consistently denied and buried deep inside of her was breaking its own way out. Working her way over the bones of the hand of the most captivating woman she’d ever met, Sansa accepted the inevitable: following the rules hadn’t freed her yet, and never would. 

After her work was done, she let her fingers fall into the palm of Daenerys’ hand, tracing patterns over the calloused skin. “Life never was meant to be easy, was it?”

Daenerys heard the deeper message in Sansa’s words. She let her fingers dance with Sansa’s, much like the two had danced weeks before. “Would you like to come home with me, Sansa?”

Sansa shook her head, but not unkindly. “That is something I’m afraid will take me a longer time to accept into my life. But I wouldn’t say no to an escort to my door.”

Daenerys truly smiled then, for the first time since she’d entered the place. Sansa followed suit, and the two stared adoringly at each other openly, reveling in the safety of an almost empty hospital in a sleeping town.

“For you, I’d wait a lifetime.” Daenerys’ voice didn’t waver once.

Already, Sansa found her uncertainty dwindling fast. Later on in the dusky evening, when Daenerys wished her good night under the soft light by her door, it took all she had not to drag the woman inside by her shoulders and finally learn what it felt like to be loved wholly.

***

Only a few weeks and several lunch dates later, Sansa’s composure was hanging on by its last thread. They hadn’t kissed since that first night, and she wasn’t sure she could handle the wait anymore. Judging by the looks Daenerys would give her at the end of each outing, restrained yet still full of so much passion, she was guessing she wasn’t alone in the matter.

At the end of lunch date number seven, after a shared milkshake with two straws, Sansa’s lonesome string finally snapped. They were barely outside of the diner’s door before she said, “Would you like to have some tea at my place? We never did get to that upon our first meeting.”

Daenerys’ eyebrows rose in initial shock, but a warm smile overcame her harsh features shortly after. She extended a crooked arm as a gesture for Sansa to hook her hand around and hold. “Only if you give me another dancing lesson. My footwork is simply atrocious.”

Leaning into Daenerys’ shoulder, Sansa accepted the offered arm warmly. “I’d be happy to.”

When they got to their building, Sansa’s elderly neighbor was in the middle of watering her blooming roses. Upon seeing the two girls, she pushed up her red-rimmed cat-eyed glasses and peered curiously through them straight at Daenerys. “Oh why, Sansa, darling! Who’s this?”

Sansa smiled politely as she took out her key and began to work it into the lock. “Mrs. Hutchins, this is our new neighbor, Daenerys, from over in 210. She’s going to have a cuppa tea with me inside.”

“Mhmm.” Mrs. Hutchins made a show of setting down her aluminum watering can and rested her hands on her hips, giving the young women a firm staredown. “I know what you two girls are up to.”

Sansa’s hand slipped as her heart skipped a beat, causing the key to scrape an awful screech of metal on metal. “You-you do?”

“Don’t think you can fool an old woman like me.” A bright smile overtook Mrs. Hutchins’ face. “You must be planning on setting her up with Jon! He’s always been interested in the most... peculiar women.” 

Mrs. Hutchins pursed her thin lips as she looked Daenerys up and down, but waved her hand in a flippant fashion when she saw the younger woman’s features tighten in offense. “Oh I meant that as a compliment, sweetheart!”

“I’m sure you did,” Daenerys said through a clenched smile. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

Sansa’s eyes flipped between the two women, taking in the scene that was growing tenser by the minute. “Well okay, Mrs. Hutchins, I think we should be on our way now,” Sansa said sweetly, ushering Daenerys inside and shutting the door before the elderly woman could take up any more of their time.

“Well then, lady friend, shall we talk about Jon?” Daenerys said, her mood turning as she stifled quick laughter from behind her hand.

Sansa rolled her eyes fondly, stuffing her key back in her bag. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer not to talk about my brother when I can think of something else I’d much rather do.”

Daenerys’ grin widened, her eyes taking on a cunning glint. “I thought we were having tea,” she said in a low tone.

Sansa set her bag down on the small kitchen table and stalked toward Daenerys. She ran her fingers lightly up Daenerys’ arm, ending with a trace at her collarbone. “We were never having tea.”

“Does this mean no dancing lesson either?” Daenerys’ hand followed Sansa’s, settling on top of the other woman’s hold on her button-up shirt.

“You never said the dancing lesson had to happen today...” Sansa bit her bottom lip coyly, blinking down at Daenerys.

Daenerys tilted her head to the side and glanced up at Sansa, mystified. “Oh, you sly minx.”

“Is that what I am?” Sansa’s eyes had no other sight but for Daenerys’ lips.

“No doubt about it,” Daenerys whispered.

“Says the woman who corrupted me.” Sansa’s hands now moved to Daenerys’ back, finding a resting place where her spine curved inwards.

“Oh, I haven’t corrupted you yet.” Daenerys drew Sansa closer with a hand cupped around the back of her neck, her fingers threaded through dark red strands. She stopped before their lips could touch, her eyes daring Sansa to make the next move.

There was no doubt in Sansa’s mind that she wanted what was surely coming next. She moved in ever closer, and uttered, “Then corrupt me.”

“Gladly.” 

In an instant, the pair were connected. Their mouths moved in a flurry of action, their bodies following in suit as they stumbled clumsily toward Sansa’s bedroom door. Whereas their first kiss was hesitant and soft, like a bird’s feather’s touch, this one was hard with unrestrained passion. They had both abandoned their initial reluctance, and now acted purely on desire. 

Sansa pulled Daenerys in through the doorway, disconnecting their mouths briefly to tug at Daenerys’ shirt, popping the top two buttons open with her left hand. Daenerys’ hands joined with Sansa’s own, making a quick job of removing the garment and casting it aside on an armchair nestled snugly in the corner. After a few moments, Sansa’s blouse followed in its path. 

As they neared the bed, Sansa slowed, her own legs folding in as she tugged Daenerys down with her. They fell in a tangled heap, the mattress settling with a loud creak beneath them. The two blindly removed the rest of their outer clothes, Daenerys’ trousers thrown one way, and Sansa’s skirt the other. 

With a subtle confidence she had yet to grow used to, Sansa ventured forward. She let her hands discover the newly naked skin before her where her eyes could not, her lids blinking closed at the motion of Daenerys’ tongue at her lower lip. 

Daenerys’ skin was hot to the touch of Sansa’s curious fingertips. The pale expanse usually hidden under several layers of menswear was much softer than expected, infinitely more so than the smoker’s calloused palms. She discovered curves as well, which while she wasn’t expecting, she most thoroughly enjoyed. As she brushed the side of Daenerys’ plain cotton bra, Sansa suddenly shivered, and Daenerys drew back from the heavy kiss in an instant.

“Are you alright? Is this too much?” Daenerys asked through labored breaths, her right hand lightly caressing the top of Sansa’s cheek.

Sansa barked out a joyous laugh, causing Daenerys’ worried eyes to crinkle even further in confusion. “It’s a lot, but believe me, not enough to stop.” Her eyes moved down Daenerys’ body, taking in more now that she had the opportunity to. A few freckles spotted her stomach, and a light smattering of blond hair on her legs caught the light from the lamp. Sansa had never seen such a simply beautiful sight. “It’s just- I’ve never done this before. Imagined it, yes, but... I never thought I’d let myself have it.”

“We can go slower if you like.” A smirk replaced Daenerys’ frown, smoothing out her features. “Slow can be just as good as fast.”

Sansa matched Daenerys with a grin of her own. “With you, I don’t doubt it.”

And with that, the two were moving again, this time with a much less desperate fervor. The steadier pace did nothing to dull the intensity, though. 

Palms passed over curves, fingers tangled through hair, pulling and shifting Sansa’s emotions in ways she had never experienced before. A fire lit itself inside of her at Daenerys’ every touch, the flames spreading and spiriting with encouraged ease. 

Daenerys shifted her body downwards as she moved her lips to Sansa’s neck, her hands making a similar descent. Her right hand slipped underneath satin, her still vulnerable left hugging at Sansa’s waist. 

Sansa’s breath hitched in her throat at the first touch, and she felt the teeth of Daenerys’ smug smile prick against her neck in response. Damn this woman; she was going to be the end of her.

As Daenerys continued to have her way with her, the heat inside of Sansa grew ever stronger, and she finally felt the rest of her inhibitions let go. With a small smile, she laced a hand around the metal dowel of her bed frame, and prepared herself for what she knew was next to come.

***

The next morning, Sansa awoke to the familiar lilt of Jo Stafford’s voice floating from down the hallway. Remembering the events of the previous night, she buried her face in her sheets and began to giggle without restraint. Her joy was so uncontrolled, so childlike, like something she’d never experienced before. Any regrets she had kept for what she had finally decided to do melted away from the pure happiness that flowed throughout her entire body.

Still unable to remove the bright smile from her face, she grabbed Daenerys’ discarded blue button-up and used it to cover herself, making her way to the kitchen, where the song was at its strongest. The sight that awaited her made her stop in her steps, leaning up against her bedroom door frame to just stare in amazement. 

Daenerys stood at the stove, using a fork to roll sausages around in a sizzling pan, her hips swaying to the slow melody every so often. Her hair was in complete disarray, and she stood only in her undergarments and that same old leather jacket of hers. Sansa was beginning to think she never went anywhere without it. 

Two cups of tea waited on the counter to her left, which Sansa found oddly hilarious, considering the excuses she had always used to bring Daenerys in. 

As the song’s brass solo came up, Daenerys began to imitate the trombone in a nasally voice, and that was when Sansa couldn’t keep quiet anymore. A loud snort escaped her, prompting Daenerys to spin around. The two women shared matching smiles as they looked each other over.

“Nice shirt,” Daenerys said, letting her eyes take in the wonderful sight.

“Nice... ensemble.”

Daenerys huffed a short laugh. “Thank you. I’m thinking this could be my new everyday outfit, y’know. Go to work in it, go out shopping in it.”

“You’d make all the heads turn, all right,” Sansa said, an eyebrow raised.

“In a good way though?” Daenerys bit her lower lip, leaning back against Sansa’s peeling cabinetry. She set the fork down on the countertop and let her arms rest loosely at her sides.

“Mhmm.” Sansa made her way closer, wrapping her arms around Daenerys as they shared an easy kiss. They seemed to be making their way toward a repeat of the previous night, until Sansa’s hand bumped the fork clattering to the ground, and they broke apart. 

“The sausages!” Daenerys yelped, turning back around to survey the damage.

Sansa laughed, grabbing a glass off of the shelf from in front of Daenerys’ shoulder. She couldn’t believe that she had this. That she had her.

Daenerys ran a hand through her white blonde hair in distress as she scraped the bottom of the pan, a noticeably burnt aroma beginning to fill the small room. 

Sansa watched the movement, her mind inexplicably caught on the small detail. Everything seemed to suddenly click into place then, for the second time since Daenerys had entered her life. She threw away everything she had ever thought she’d known, or felt.

Sansa didn’t hate the color white. She loved it.


End file.
